"O'Donnell, Peter - Modesty Blaise 12 - Dead man's handle" - читать интересную книгу автора (O'Donnell Peter)
Peter O'Donnell
All of the characters in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual
persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental
Chapter 1
Her name was Molly Chen, she was nineteen, and she was frightened. An aircraft coming in low to land at Kai Tak airport gave her an excuse to say nothing until the noise had faded. She stood up, moved across the small office to close the window that looked out from Kowloon across Victoria Harbour to the island of Hong Kong, then returned to her seat at the cluttered desk.
The Englishman who sat facing her was also afraid. He did not fidget, or show any outward sign of nerves, but the tension in him was so great that she could feel its resonance within herself. Trying to keep her voice steady she said, "My grandfather is not available at the moment, Mr Garvin."
Blue eyes studied her suspiciously. "When will 'e be?" the man demanded. His voice was uncultured, and she thought the accent was what the English called Cockney.
Uncertain how to answer him, she countered with a question of her own. "What proof do you have that you represent Modesty Blaise, please? I have been secretary to my grandfather, Wei Lu, for two years now, and I have not seen you before, neither have I heard your name."
The big fair man with the somewhat rough-hewn face said, "It's the first time I've worked for Modesty Blaise. She sort of... picked me up in Thailand a week or two ago. Gave me this job to do before she flew back to Tangier. I'm 'ere to collect fifty thousand sterling in Royal Dutch Shell bearer stocks from Wei Lu for services rendered." He felt in his pocket and laid a small ivory plaque on the desk. "That says Modesty Blaise sent me."
Molly Chen leaned forward and studied the Chinese characters engraved on the plaque, then nodded. "Yes, that is her chop. Nobody but her representative would have such a credential, Mr. Garvin."
Willie Garvin put the plaque away and relaxed slightly. "Then when do I get to collect the certificates from Wei Lu?" he demanded.
The girl's hands fluttered in distress. "I am sorry," she said, and now her voice faltered. "It is impossible. Three days ago my grandfather's yacht was stopped by a gunboat of the Chinese Navy while returning from Macau, and he was taken off. There is a grapevine, you understand, and from this we know that he is now in the Republic, in the hands of Chinese Army Intelligence."
In the silence that followed she saw the colour fade slowly from the Englishman's face, and wondered why he should be so deeply shaken. Modesty Blaise was a reasonable person who had a good relationship with Wei Lu, and would know that this was not a piece of trickery. Besides, it was no fault of this man Willie Garvэn that he would have to go away empty handed. At last he said in a hoarse voice, "Can you get 'old of the bearer certificates on Wei Lu's be'alf?"
She shook her head apologetically. "If I could do so I would, Mr. Garvin, for I know the transaction is agreed, but I do not even know which bank holds the documents, or if my grandfather has them in private safe-custody somewhere. In my duties as secretary I deal with only certain parts of his business."
Willie Garvin closed his eyes and muttered, "Oh, Christ. . ." After a moment he opened them again and said with quiet desperation, "D'you know where they've got Wei Lu?"
She dipped her head in answer, fingers twining together nervously, and said, "According to the grapevine my grandfather is being held for interrogation at the headquarters of Tenth Corps Intelligence Section, which is based at Kui-tan." She hesitated, then went on, "You must understand that to a great extent this is a personal matter, Mr. Garvin. Many years ago my grandfather was an officer in the Army of the Chinese Republic under Mao. He deserted and fled to Hong Kong. His superior at the time was disgraced and imprisoned for two years. Since his release he has been rehabilitated and now he is a Colonel in charge of the Intelligence Section at Kui-tan. I think his purpose is revenge. My grandfather will be brainwashed into making a detailed confession of many crimes, and will then be executed."
She saw that Willie Garvin had listened with ferocious attention to every word. Now he said, "Where's Kui-tan?"
"A hundred miles or so up the coast and five miles inland."
She went to a cupboard, produced a map, unfolded it, and spread it on the desk. When he stood beside her she was again conscious of the huge tension in him. For three silent minutes he studied the map with frightening concentration. Then: "I'll 'ave to get your grandfather out of there, Molly, and I'll need more funds than I've got, so 'ow much can you raise?"
She turned her head to stare at him. "Out of Red China? That is madness, Mr. Garvin. It cannot be done. Please believe that I love my grandfather and would do anything to help him, but I know what is possible and what is not. I do not understand why you should even think of something so hopeless. For me this is a great sorrow, but for you it is only a matter of making a telephone call to Modesty Blaise in Tangier, and telling her what has happenedЧ"
"No!" His voice almost cracked on the word. He swallowed, and continued quietly. "No, Molly. She sent me to do a job, first I've ever done for 'er, and there's no way I'm going to ring up and start whining about problems."
She moved to sit down limply in her grandfather's chair. "You . . . you seriously mean to enter Red China and try to bring him out, Mr. Garvin?"
"I'll need a boatman," he muttered as if speaking his thoughts aloud. "Someone reliable. Need a few things from a doctor, too. Then there'll be scuba gear, field glasses . . ." His voice faded but his lips continued to move slightly. She watched him halt by the window for a while, gazing blindly out, then he resumed his pacing and muttering. "No small arms . . . just me knives and a few skittles. If it comes to a shoot-out I've lost anyway. Grenades, maybe? A diversion ... ? It's all going to cost." He stopped in his stride and said, "Can you raise a bit of cash, Molly?"
She lifted her hands, palms up. "Mr. Garvin, I am a young Chinese girl. I have a few hundred Hong Kong dollars of my own, and you are welcome to them, butЧ"
He cut her short with a gesture and said, "D'you know which bank Modesty Blaise uses 'ere?"
She nodded. "Yes. The Hong Kong and Macau Fidelity Bank."
"Right. I'll use 'er chop to get funds there." Molly Chen saw sweat spring out on his brow as he spoke those words. Then: "You reckon they'll play?"
"I think so, Mr. Garvin. The chop of Modesty Blaise is much respected. If the bank refuses, I know several private persons who will certainly lend you money against it."
He wiped his brow with a handkerchief and said, "I'll need a boat, Molly, a cruiser with a decent turn of speed, and a good man to handle 'er. All I'll want 'im to do is drop me off in an inflatable about three miles off-shore at night, then come back each night for the next four nights and stand by for a couple of hours, say from two a.m. to four a.m., pushing out a radio beam for me to home in on."
She said, "For four nights?"
"If I'm not back then I won't be coming back. That's when you phone Modesty Blaise and tell 'er. Not before."
She came from behind the desk and stood looking up at him. "Mr. Garvin, it is very difficult to keep anything secret in Hong Kong. If one other person knows what you intend, there is a chance that it will reach the grapevine. But my grandfather owns a Seahound. It cruises at twenty knots with a range of three hundred nautical miles, and I have handled it often. I know that I am only a female, butЧ"
He cut her short with an almost irritable shake of his head. "Have 'er thoroughly checked, and be ready to sail at seven p.m. the day after tomorrow. I'll need that much time to get everything together." For a moment his taut anxiety faded and he looked at her as if recognising another human being. Then he put a hand on her shoulder and said gently, "Thanks, Molly. We'll do fine together, just fine."
His gaze lost focus again and he turned away. "Now . . . radio equipment, scuba gear, weapons, a doctor. You got good contacts?"
"Yes, Mr. Garvin."
"Right. In a minute I'll start listing everything we'll need. There'll be nothing to give any of these people a clue about what I'm doing. They'll just think I'm setting up some kind of scam for Modesty Blaise. You got a thousand scams going on this island, so one more won't attract much interest." He pulled a chair up to the desk and took a ballpoint pen from his pocket. "Let's 'ave a pad to write on, Molly. I'll do that list now, and I'd better get it right."
She took a lined pad from a drawer and put it in front of him. "Mr. Garvin ... do you really believe that you can bring my grandfather safely home?"
He sat still for a moment, then slowly raised his head to look at her, and in his eyes she saw a deep grey weariness, a soul-weariness born of the despair that might come to possess a man who had never found himself. "I reckon there's 'alf a chance," he said quietly. "It's surprising what you can get away with when people aren't expecting anything. Main problem's going to be locating 'im. If I can do that, the odds get a lot better." He paused, and for a moment she glimpsed another man within him as humorous resignation touched his eyes. "But you can count on me 'aving a good try, Molly, even if there isn't 'alf a chance, because if I don't get Wei Lu back, I'd just as soon not come back meself."
Five days later, an hour before sunset, Willie Garvэn lowered the field glasses from his eyes and looked at his watch. He lay in a fold of ground near the rounded crest of a hill overlooking Kui-tan from the south, with a few square feet of camouflage netting spread in front of him. Behind him lay a backpack weighing well over a hundred pounds.
He had lain here for almost two days now, having paddled ashore from the Seahound soon after midnight forty-four hours ago in a black fourteen-foot single canoe. This now lay on the sea bed, weighed down by rocks. Apart from his backpack the canoe had carried a heavy duty battery, a deflated rubber dinghy, and a small but efficient battery-driven outboard motor he had spent six hours adapting in Wei Lu's garage. These items were now hidden in a crevice of the low cliff that hemmed a narrow rock-strewn beach on the deserted stretch of coast.
Moving across country under fitful moonlight he had reached the hills south of Kui-tan by three a.m. and established his position before first light. Throughout that day he had studied every detail of the little town with unfaltering concentration. The map had told him that it straddled a river and that on the north side the ground rose steeply. For this reason he had chosen to place himself on the south side first, and his choice was good, for it was here that a dozen large huts formed a barracks standing clear of the town.
Throughout the long hours of daylight he had been able to make a close estimate of the number of men. There were fewer than three hundred, a Corps Headquarters cadre, he decided, consisting mainly of Signals and Administration personnel. On the west side of the barracks were the transport lines, a mixture of lorries and small vehicles. Soldiers moving between barracks and town either walked or used bicycles. He had seen no motor-cycles. South of the barracks was a fuel store. The familiar jerricans, which had served so many armies so well, were neatly stacked and surrounded by a fence of barbed wire. East of the barracks were a few fields where the army was presumably growing some vegetables for itself. The main area of agriculture lay west of the town proper, along the river.
The feature that had held the larger part of Willie Garvin's attention for two days now was a small brick building. This stood between the fuel store and a hut from which most authority seemed to be exerted Ч presumably the Commanding Officer's domain. Only the front and one end of the brick building were visible to him. The end was a blank wall, and he suspected that this was also true of the back and far end. In the front were set ten solid wooden doors, each with a very small grille at about head height in the wall beside it. This, he now knew, was the barracks prison, with each door opening into a narrow cell.
Three of the cells were empty, he assumed, for he had seen no coming or going from them. Five held men in uniform, one to a cell, who were brought out and drilled arduously three times a day. Both the remaining cells held a man in civilian clothes who was kept handcuffed and whom Willie had seen only once a day, at different times, when each was taken from his cell and marched across to the headquarters hut. One was a youngish man in drab Chinese trousers and jacket. The other was in his sixties and wore no jacket, but his grubby shirt, his rumpled trousers, and his shoes were all of western style.
Willie Garvin had concluded that the two civilians were undergoing interrogation by the Intelligence Section under the colonel whose disgrace Wei Lu had caused so many years ago. The older of the two civilians was Wei Lu, of that he was now certain. He had been able to study the face for a few seconds through the powerful field glasses, and though it was ravaged by fear and whatever had been inflicted during interrogation, he was able to match it satisfactorily against his mental picture of the photographs Molly Chen had shown him.
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